


a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun

by limehoneytea



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergent, Blushing, But not all of them are bad either, But nothing happens though, Childhood Trauma, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, First Kiss, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Getting Together, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Mutual Pining, No everyone at Pride is good, Original Character is pretty important, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Pining Simon Snow, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pride Parades, Sleepy Boys, Small Towns, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Talking!! about feelings!!, The characters are safe and okay, a lot of it, but it doesn't overshadow the boys or anything, what happens when author starts to miss pride in november
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limehoneytea/pseuds/limehoneytea
Summary: The last thing Baz Pitch is expecting on a sunny Saturday afternoon is a call from Simon Snow. He doesn’t say much, just his name, but the words are slurred more than Snow’s have ever been and Baz is worried. “Snow?” he asks, hesitation clear in his voice.“Hi!” he cheers overenthusiastically. “So, this nice lady,” he begins, his words filled with childlike innocence and wonder, “she said my drink was drugged? Anyway, can you come and get me?”(Simon Snow gets in trouble and calls Baz Pitch for help)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 30
Kudos: 331





	1. "can you come and get me?"

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through the photos I took at Pride and I missed the whole atmosphere of it so I'm writing a pride fic in November/December, enjoy!
> 
> (not proofread, I just put it through Grammarly once, if any grammar/spelling mistakes bother you too much I'll do my best to fix it, thanks!)
> 
> Title from Song if Achilles by Madeline Miller

All of Watford remembers the day Agatha Wellbelove and Simon Snow broke it off.

They weren’t sure whether or not it was a mutual decision, or one just got tired of the other, but they were Watford’s Golden Couple and their breakup was the juiciest piece of gossip they had gotten their hands on in a while, so they speculated. There were cheating rumors, rumors that the Mage hated their relationship, rumors that Simon was gay, or that _Agatha_ was gay, or, the most widely accepted rumor, that Agatha had left Simon for one T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, star footballer and probably the hottest boy in school.

(‘Simon’s just as hot!’ protested a 6th-year student.)

“Well, yeah,” her friend had said, “but some people just prefer tall-dark-and-handsome hot over ray-of-sunshine hot.”)

There is one other rumor most people don’t like to talk about. 5th year Will Pinemark swears he saw Baz Pitch blush once when Simon Snow did something cute, and that the hate between them is just a cover-up for a huge crush. He reckons Simon Snow left Agatha Wellbelove to be with Baz Pitch. (No one listens to Will Pinemark, because Will Pinemark is a dumbass who once bet that Trixie wasn’t actually part pixie and got slapped in the middle of dinner with a fistful of pixie dust. Watford students still find remnants of the incident around the dining hall to this day.)

Simon Snow knows that their breakup wasn’t as interesting as Watford likes to make it out to be. Knows that, while Agatha might like Baz, Baz has lost complete interest in her since the days of their split (everyone knows this, Will Pinemark screams about it to anyone who will listen and claims it as evidence of his theory). Simon Snow knows that Agatha Wellbelove just didn’t like him as she used to anymore and thought that both of them would be happier if they weren’t together. 

Simon doesn’t want to admit it, but he agrees with her. She seems lighter than he’s ever seen her and something in his heart tugs him to follow in her footsteps. No one believes Will Pinemark but if Simon said the words weren’t getting to him, he would be lying. Besides, there is a lot of truth to Baz’s status as the hottest boy in school, and Simon’s mind knows it incredibly well.

So well, in fact, that his subconscious can’t stop dreaming about him. About his voice and his hands and the taut jawline, Dream-Simon drags his fingertips (and his lips) along. He sometimes wishes he could live in those dreams and other times wishes he never had them because sharing a room with a boy you want nothing more than to kiss and a boy who hates you with every bone in his body should definitely classify as cruel and unusual punishment. 

It’s June and Simon hears about a festival in a nearby town dedicated to people like him: boys who want to kiss boys, girls who want to kiss girls, people who want to kiss both and everyone else who’s love and expression others seem to disagree with. Simon thinks it’s beautiful and he thinks it’s made even better by the fact that it falls on a Saturday.

Watford students are technically allowed to go out to the nearby town, all they have to have is parental permission, and since Simon doesn’t have parents, he reasons, he isn’t breaking any rules. 

  
  
  
  


Simon Snow embraces his status as a ray of fucking sunshine. He likes to smile and he has light eyes and hair, so he thinks it makes sense. He likes it, somewhat, being called something bright and essential and so full of life that others had a hard time comprehending it. 

But Simon thinks he’s never seen something as full of life as this. 

The streets are lined with rainbow banners and people have donned their most colorful clothes. Some are carrying little flags and waving them joyously, while others have taken to wearing the flags wrapped around them cozily like a blanket or around their neck like a cape. There’s an old woman giving out free lemonade in cute rainbow cups and Simon picks one off her tray and smiles his thanks, sipping it slowly. 

He hasn’t had much lemonade in his life but he can guarantee that this is his favorite. He doesn’t know why, maybe because it’s the perfect balance of sour and sweet, or maybe it’s because he can taste the love that went into making it. 

He watches as everyone parts to make way for a float with a group of brightly dressed people to pass through the streets. The middle was most crowded before and as those people move to the sides, Simon finds himself in the very back of the crowd, unable to see the float. He wants to see it up close, wants to be fully immersed in this experience but he looks at the cup in his hand and realizes that if he tries to push through the crowd with it, he would definitely spill it and anger someone.

So, Simon does the smartest thing he can think of, which, in retrospect, isn’t very smart. He leaves the cup on a ledge by a shop and shoulders through the crowd of people, reaching the front just in time to see the float pass by and turn a corner. 

When he gets back to his lemonade and takes a sip, he notices a slight difference in the taste, just a twinge of saltiness. He hesitates for a bit but shrugs and goes in to take another sip, deciding that it’s nothing. 

After all, Simon feels safer here than he has anywhere else in the world, and he has no reason to think otherwise.

  
  
  
  


Dorothy Guthry has been hosting Pride in the small town of Millhampton for almost 20 years. It’s one of the things she takes pride in, bringing the town together in a celebration of love and freedom. But, no matter her years of experience, she’s not used to seeing outsiders take part in the festivities.

She’s vaguely aware of the few townhouses to the north and east and that one posh boarding school with the gated doors to the south. But only a few of the inhabitants of the houses actually attend (the others think they’re above townie celebrations anyway), and schoolchildren from the boarding school that, both have the desire to visit the town and the means, are few and far between (they’d much rather visit the larger town a bit far out west, which, while having a bigger population, doesn’t think much of Pride).

The last time she saw some of the boarding school's students in town was when she had just begun the celebrations, the year after she had moved into Millhampton for a fresh start. It had been a group of three teenagers of maybe 17 or 18, then: a girl with mostly pitch black hair but with a singular white streak, and a pair of blonde siblings. 

This time, it’s just one boy. He looks about the same age as the group that came before him but there’s something odd about the boy. He’s holding a cup of Old Macy’s lemonade but he’s swaying and stumbling like he’s had 6 shots of liquor (as she approaches him, she doesn’t know whether or not she hopes he has).

“I’m Dorothy,” she introduces as the boy’s blue eyes meet hers, offering him a hand to shake. 

He grins almost madly, taking her hand and giving it a clumsy shake. “Simon!” he says enthusiastically.

He goes to take another sip of his lemonade but Dorothy stops him with her hand, a sick feeling already crawling down her neck. “Is that all you’ve had to drink so far?” she asks kindly and sighs a deep sigh when he nods. She knows Old Macy didn’t do this, and she thinks she can trust the townspeople to not have done this either. 

She digs into her bag with one hand, not taking her eyes off of Simon or the cup as she does so. All that leaves are the rich folks of the townhouses to the north and the east. She knows a lot of them have children that are teenagers or adults that act like teenagers and she makes space in her mental schedule to go around tomorrow and make whoever did this to the poor boy regret it. 

She pulls out what she was looking for in her bag, strips for testing the common date rape drugs in drinks and gently takes the drink from Simon. He blinks at her, confused, but lets it happen, and Dorothy doesn’t want to think about what would happen if the drugs served their purpose. 

She dips one of the strips in and pulls it out, shaking it in the air and watching in horror as the strip turns orange. She scrambles to read the description in the back of the package and sighs in relief as she learns that it won’t harm him in the long run. She dumps out the drink in the corner of the street.

Simon pouts. “What’d ya do that for?” he whines, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Dorothy sighs, motioning for him to sit down and grimacing as he does as she asks, her thoughts drifting to bad places again. “You should call a friend, sweetheart. Your drink was drugged, someone needs to come pick you up and take you back to school,” she says as gently as she can and plucks another cup from Old Macy. Simon blushes at the suggestion, barely registering why he has to.

She watches him blush and stutter as she tests the drink (just in case), sighing in relief as she watches the strip not change a shade. “I-I don’t have a phone,” he mumbles, looking sad. Dorothy feels something tug at her heart at the sight, and hands Simon a new (and safe) drink, watching him smile as he takes a sip.

She puts the strips away and retrieves her cellphone, pulling up the keypad and handing it to him. “Call a friend,” she says again and the boy takes the phone in his hands and clumsily types out a phone number.

Simon Snow knows Penelope Bunce’s phone number by heart, she made him memorize it just in case he ever needed it in an emergency, but now that he actually needs it, she doesn’t pick up. 

The kind woman, _Dorothy_ , his brain supplies, has her eyes trained on his head and as the two of them listen to the automated voicemail play through (Penny never saw the meaning in customizing it, _who even used voicemails anymore, Si?_ ). “She’s not picking up,” he says sadly.

“Do you have another friend you could call?” 

Simon considers it. He’s just about to say no when he remembers that one time he had accidentally set some papers on fire while trying to cast a spell in his room and Baz had sneered, leaving his phone number so they could “call me when I don’t have to risk smoke inhalation to get some sleep.”

That was before the Mage had banned cellphones at Watford and Simon wonders for a brief moment if Baz had kept the same number over the years. He remembers the phone number, not because he cared much about Baz at the time but because it was just one digit off from his ID number in the care homes and that number was seared into his brain. 

He wonders again whether or not Baz has the same number, and then asks himself whether Baz will even pick up and if he does, if Baz will come and get him. If he was in his right mind, he would have answered in the negative, but his guards are lower now and he decides that it’s worth a shot. 

He nods taking the phone and typing in the well-memorized digits. He picks up after two rings and Simon cheers a loud “Baz!” into the microphone.

The last thing Baz Pitch is expecting on a sunny Saturday afternoon is a call from Simon Snow. He doesn’t say much, just his name, but the words are slurred more than Snow’s have ever been and Baz is worried. “Snow?” he asks, hesitation clear in his voice. 

“Hi!” he cheers overenthusiastically. “So, this nice lady,” he begins, his words filled with childlike innocence and wonder, “she said my drink was drugged? Anyway, can you come and get me?”

“Snow, where are you?” he asks, his body going rigid in worry. He had banned himself from showing any emotion for Simon Snow than hatred, but dread and worry envelop him and he paces back and forth, not wanting to imagine what might have happened.

Snow hums, shuffling for a bit and then asking, “Dorothy, what’s this town called again?”

A woman’s voice sounds over the line and Baz assumes that it’s the ‘nice lady’ Snow was talking about. “Millhampton, sweetheart,” she says and Baz can hear her fond smile over the line. 

“Oh right!” Snow says, probably bobbing his head in that adorable way of his. “Wait!” he interrupts, all of a sudden. “Dorothy, this is my roommate Baz,” he says, his voice taking a sing-song like turn. “He’s really, really pretty,” he explains, almost like he assumes that she already knows. 

Baz’s heart skips a beat and a blush creeps up onto his face. He had just made his way back to the room from the Catacombs and the blood of a few rats crawls through his veins. He knows that this might be a problem when he’s around Snow later but also knows that nothing can really be done about it.

Baz hears Dorothy chuckle slightly. “Baz?” she asks and he feels weird being called that by a complete stranger. “He needs to get back to school,” she explains.

Baz nods even though neither of them can see him. “I’m on my way,” he says, instinctively, already walking out of the room, his phone pressed to his shoulder. He pauses, knowing that if anyone saw him with it, he would be in trouble and won’t be able to get to Snow in time.

He ponders over what to say to end the call when Snow does it for him. He cheers a “Thanks, Baz!” and hangs up, leaving poor Baz to attempt to tone down the heat of his face and the thudding of his heart. He doesn’t question how Simon Snow got his number, or why he even remembered it in that state, only thinks about his smooth voice and how his cheeks are probably heating up in embarrassment by now. 

He thinks about how Simon Snow chose him to contact in a crisis, pockets his phone, and pushes the door open with a shy grin plastered on his face.

  
  
  
  


Dorothy sees the moment Simon spots his ‘Baz’ in the crowd. His eyes glaze over, a wide grin taking over his face, and Dorothy swears she sees his freckles glow. He calls the boy’s name a few seconds later and waves his hands around like a maniac.

Dorothy sees the moment Baz spots Simon. He pauses, turns to face the direction of the noise on his heel, and his face lights up. It lights up in a different way than Simon, who just gets brighter when he lights up. This boy, Baz, lets the rough angles of his face soften and the natural downward curve of his lips breaks its course. 

He makes his way towards the two of them, and Dorothy can see him fighting a relieved smile. As soon as he’s close enough to them, Simon springs up and wraps his arms around Baz’s shoulders, resting his forehead on the right collar bone, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Baz turns bright red, redder than anyone Dorothy’s ever laid her eyes on and tries her very best not to laugh because she remembers being young and in love like that. He wraps his fingertips around Simon’s forearm and gently pushes on it until the two are shoulder to shoulder. “Snow, you’re drugged,” he whispers softly and Dorothy almost weeps at how sweet he is. 

Simon pouts but settles for swinging an arm over Baz’s shoulders, pulling the two closer together. Baz meets Dorothy’s eyes and smiles. She would have believed it to be a real one if she hadn’t seen his smile at Simon just a few moments ago. She feels something familiar about the boy just then and has to ask.

Baz, who was going to just thank her and take Snow back to school is startled by the question she asks. “Do you know a woman with just one white streak in her hair?” she asks and it would have been a strange and unsettling question if Baz didn’t know a woman just like that.

“My aunt Fiona,” he says quietly and feels the weight of Snow’s head on his shoulder, trying and failing not to let a blush shoot through his face again. “Do you know her?”

Dorothy smiles. “I saw her around town once,” she murmured, lost in the memories of all the Pride celebrations she’s hosted over the years. “You look quite a bit like her,” she paused, letting a few chuckles escape her lips. “You’re paler, obviously, but your smile is identical to hers.”

Baz lets a real smile shine through and trains his eyes to the ground. “Thanks,” he says, “for taking care of him.” His eyes flit to the boy on his shoulder. He looks fond and very much in love and it makes Dorothy's lips tug into a smile. 

She nods, before digging into her purse and retrieving one of the makeshift business cards she had made for the decoration people while planning the celebration and hands it to Baz. “Tell him not to be a stranger, yeah?” 

Baz nods, taking the piece of paper and smiling again, before wrapping an arm around Simon’s waist and setting his eyes towards the main road. “Thank you,” he says again, and Dorothy watches them leave. 

It’s past dinner when they get back but Simon doesn’t seem to be in the mood to sleep. Instead, he tugs Baz to the kitchen and grabs some sandwiches from a very amused Cook Pritchard (who probably assumed Simon was just drunk) and leads him to their room, sliding down to the floor and leaning side to side against the foot of his bed.

Baz would be lying if he said he didn’t cherish that night, If he said that he didn’t love the carefree way Simon talked and looked at it, and how easily Simon’s head slotted into his shoulder. 

Simon falls asleep that night with the hymnal quality of Baz’s carefully constructed sentences and the faint hoots of an owl from outside the window. Baz carries him into bed (vampire strength comes in handy sometimes), placing him under the covers gently and pausing for a second so brush a few stray curls from his forehead.

Baz smiles, a genuine and fond one, and whispers, “Good night, Simon,” flicking his wand and crawling into bed himself as the lights slowly go out. 


	2. after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re just two teenagers with too many expectations on their heads and shitty childhoods weighing them down. But here, just for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms at the top of the Mummer’s House with the day’s first light shining down on them, they can forget it all, and laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part 2! I've never written 5.7k ish in 2 days before so that was a trip and a half but I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Simon Snow opens his eyes just as the sun peaks through the horizon, washing the room in a gentle orange glow. Basking in the dawn would have been a pleasant way to wake up, he thinks, if his head wasn’t pounding as if a blacksmith was in the process of forging a longsword on it. Still, he never sleeps early enough to wake up early enough to get a view like this and it would be a shame if he let it go to waste.

He pries himself off his pillow and flings the covers from over his body, wincing as the fabric hits an open glass of water on the bedside table and makes it fall to the floor with a crash. A groan sounds from the bed next to him and Simon lands back onto his pillow. The sunrise could wait.

“Snoww,” Baz groans, placing his forearm over his eyes, “It’s too bloody early!”

Baz groaning his name does something to Simon, and he flops onto his front, turning just his head in Baz’s direction. “Morning,” he says, trying to sound as casual as possible while simultaneously hiding an amused smile. 

Baz blushes slightly but turns to his side and faces Simon, their eyes connecting and staying connected for a few long seconds. “Thank you,” Simon all but whispers and his sleepy morning voice makes Baz’s slight blush turn his entire face as red as it possibly can get with about fifteen hours between him and the last time he fed. 

Watching Baz blush also does something to Simon (Baz doing anything does something to Simon) and he attempts to hide his own growing blush through sheer willpower alone (he fails).

“Do you remember anything?” Baz asks suddenly, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Simon smiles. “Everything.”  
  


“Good,” he whispers, and Simon always shivers. ““Good, because now you can tell me,” he raises his voice just a bit in volume, not loud enough to intimidate, but just enough to be heard clearly, “what the fuck were you thinking?”

It’s a defense mechanism for him, Simon knows this from all his time of studying Baz in a positive light, but that doesn’t mean that his words don’t sting just a bit. 

Baz regrets it the second the words are out of his mouth. Snow’s carefree demeanor shifts, and his posture goes rigid, even though he’s laying in bed. He wants to take it back, scream at Snow for taking away this bubble of contentedness they created together, but he knows that it’s his own fault and just remains silent, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath.

In a split second, the smile is back on Snow’s face but Baz can’t help but notice how they don’t quite reach his eyes. He’s not smiling like he usually does, like he’s channeling the sun’s rays into whatever he’s smiling at. He’s smiling like how Vera or his father smile when they’re trying to not be angry or upset. He’s smiling like he’s trying to trick his brain into turning that smile into a real one. It doesn’t quite work as he wants it to.

Baz wants to scream at himself, to tell himself that he was an idiot who managed to ruin things with Snow before they even began, when Snow begins to speak. “I don’t know,” he begins, sitting up. Baz sits up as well and fiddles with his fingers in his lap while he continues.

Simon sees the regret in Baz’s face, and moves to fix things between them. “The kids at the care homes avoided me like the plague,” he says slowly, before even realizing that if bringing comfort was his goal, he was on his way to failing miserably.

Baz sent him a wide eyes look, before shifting forward to the edge of the bed, so he could be as close to Simon as possible without it being weird. “Penny said it was because of my magic, but for, what, 11 years, I thought I was just that annoying.”

“Snow,” Baz begins but pauses as he watches Simon’s eyes glaze over.

  
  


_““He’s a terrible child. Doesn’t even speak!””_

_““You’re so brave, not everyone could take care of a child like that.””_

_““Well, sure, but I won’t say it’s not a good thing I’ll have him out of my hands by the end of the month.””_

  
  


“Snow,” he tries, moving forward to stand on his knees in between the beds. Simon’s hands are shaking now and as much as Baz wants to hold them, he restrains himself, unsure of whether his touch will be welcome.

  
  


_“”Oh don’t start crying now, you’ve no reason to cry. There’s kids your age starving out on the streets while you’re here crying over a little bruise. Don’t be a brat!””_

  
  


“Snow,” Baz tries once more, taking his hand this time and tracing a scar he no doubt got from his sword. Simon takes in a deep breath and exhales, nodding his head and closing his eyes. 

  
  


_“”What are you gonna do, Snow? S-st-t-t-stutter to Mrs. Bright about how we took your toys? Grow up!””_

“Simon!” Baz exclaims louder and in a split second, he has an armful of Simon Snow. He tightens his arms around Snow’s back and keeps them there as he gets up from his knees and settles onto the bed, crossing his legs under him. Simon takes this opportunity to press closer to Baz’s chest and tighten his arms around his torso.

Baz smells like cedar and bergamot (Simon only knows the names because it’s on the label of his posh shampoo) and Snow smells like a crackling fire (It’s ironic really, a boy named Snow smelling like he has a personal vendetta against his namesake). 

They stay there a while, breathing each other in and letting a blanket of comfort settle over them. Baz tries to drown out his unwanted thoughts of how he made this happen, and he was the reason Simon acted like this, with the smell of the generic shampoo in his hair, and the smoked wood smell of a campfire. 

Baz feels Simon shift and for a split second, he thinks that the regret is finally settling in and that Simon is pulling away. Instead, he keeps his arms wound around Baz just as tight and only moved his head slightly so their eyes can meet. 

Simon takes a deep breath and moves his head so that his face is pressed against Baz’s chest once more. “And now that I actually have friends,” he murmurs, sounding unsure. Baz feels the vibrations of his words deep in his chest and buries his head in Simon’s shoulder. “I mean, I know Penny wouldn’t think of me badly but,” he tries again, hesitant in his words.

Snow looks like it honestly pains him to explain and Baz feels the need to intervene. He hesitates for a second because the last time he did this, it was to his father and that hadn’t ended well. Still, he knows Snow won’t mind, is sure he won’t mind, and recites that in his mind over and over like a mantra until the words come out. “Simon, I understand, I’ve been there,” he confesses, making sure to use his first name. 

Simon looks up, his face scrunching up in that adorable way it does when he’s trying to comprehend something. Baz sees the moment it dawns on him. “How have you─ _Oh_.”

His face looks downright comical and Baz can’t help but let a small giggle pass before schooling his features. “Yeah, oh.”

Simon is sporting a small smile as he opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind midway, making eye contact with Baz for a second before doubling over in laughter. His arms are still tightly woven around Baz’s middle, so he more presses himself as far onto Baz as humanly possible than doubles over but Baz doesn’t mind. 

On the contrary, actually, he thinks he can listen to Simon Snow laugh forever and not get tired of it. It’s an electric sort of laugh, creating a buzz within the entire room. Baz swears he sees their room light up with the sheer force of his laugh and is distinctly reminded of a quote from a book he read not so long ago: _light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun._

His laughter finally stops and Baz misses it the instant it’s gone. Simon pulls away just enough to look into Baz’s eyes and his face sports an apologetic look as he says, “Sorry, it’s just sort of funny. If you told me last year I’d be having a heart-to-heart about sexuality with Baz Pitch on my bed I would’ve punched you.”

Baz grins a grin he hasn’t had since as long as he can remember and whispers, “Yeah?” as if this little bubble of happiness and laughter they’ve created will shatter at anything directed its way. “I think you’d have punched me regardless,” he jokes.

For a moment he thinks that he’s done it, he’s ruined the moment, but Simon’s sunshine smile returns, and actually reaches his eyes this time, as he hums contemplatively. “How did you know?” 

Baz’s smile turns confused but remains on his face. “Know what? That I liked boys?” Simon hums and Baz’s grin goes back to as close to sunshine as his natural pouting face can. “I saw a cute boy and wanted to kiss him,” he explains, and if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Simon actually seems to understand, and nods seriously. “Same.”

One of Baz’s eyebrows quirks up and Simon wants to kiss it. “Same? What boy have you got the hots for, Snow?” he asks joking, and Simon wants to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Instead his huffs and brings up a finger to point at him. “What boy have _you_ got the hots for? Probably a right posh git.” He mutters the last part, but Baz still seems to understand. 

“He’s a bit of a git, but not very posh, no. Yours?” he asks like he’s asking if he likes milk in his tea (he does, of course he does).

Simon smiles, trying to counter him with a similar casual tone. He doesn’t sound as cool as Baz, but then again, who does? “Right posh git,” he says, mimicking his earlier words. 

Baz’s grin returns and he looks as though he’s trying hard to hold back a laugh. “Snow?” he asks coolly. Simon hums in return and Baz takes a moment to bask in the light of Simon Snow being practically on top of him. “Please don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on Dev,” he murmurs, quieter than he means to and Simon breaks into another fit of laughter. 

Baz mentally pats himself on the back as he listens to Simon's golden laughter.

Simon is still laughing softly and his fingers trace a pattern on Baz’s shoulder (Baz sets to memorize the feeling to draw on during tougher times). “Sorry, I should specify, the boy I want to kiss is hot,” he says, still giggling as Baz bursts out laughing against him. 

They’re just two teenagers with too many expectations on their heads and shitty childhoods weighing them down.

But here, just for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms at the top of the Mummer’s House with the day’s first light shining down on them, they can forget it all, and laugh.

Their laughter dies down as their eyes reconnect, and something in Simon makes him reach out and trace his fingers over the jaw he’s been wishing to trace for weeks. Baz gulps, trying to think of all the ways this could go wrong, all the consequences they’ll have to face if this actually happens, but when his eyes focus on Simon’s blue ones, Baz comes to the decision that he’s worth all of it. 

“Baz?” he whispers, and Baz doesn’t think he would have heard him if they weren’t so close. He hums back in response, simply because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, just as quiet if not more so than before. 

It takes everything Baz has in him to try not to answer in a whining tone. He quietly says, “Please,” and he knows he’s failed.

Simon gives him a wide sunshine smile and moves forward to press their lips together. 

It’s everything Baz has imagined and more. Simon Snow’s lips are so soft and he’s so gentle with them that Baz has to actively stop himself from melting into a puddle of emotions. Simon twists his chin, and Baz lets out something that resembles a whine, and parts his lips, bringing his hands up to cup Simon’s cheeks. 

Simon pulls away, and Baz chases his lips with another whine he’ll deny for the rest of his life. “Snow,” he whispers like the name itself is holier than Baz’s entire being could ever be.

Simon looks mesmerized but the corner of his lips quirk up. Baz moves forward and presses a kiss to it. This makes his smile wider as he says, “You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says with a grin, bringing their lips together for another kiss, deepening it as he falls onto the bed on his back and brings Simon down with him. 

Simon uses his elbows to prop his body over Baz’s. “Um, I’m pretty sure you did,” he murmurs, tracing Baz’s jaw with his lips like he’s done in countless fantasies.

Baz exhales deeply, burrowing his head into Simon’s mess of pillows, further exposing his neck and tensing his jaw. “No, I’m pretty sure─ Snow!”

  
  
  
  


Simon Snow and Baz Pitch walk into breakfast hand in hand, both of them looking like they’d been _thoroughly_ kissed. All of Watford is buzzing, and Will Pinemark looks like Christmas has come early. 

Simon Snow is smiling wider than he’s ever had and for the first time in, maybe, ever, his title as _ray of sunshine_ fits better than anyone had guessed. Baz Pitch’s title of tall-dark-and-handsome on the other hand, seems to have taken a hit. He’s still tall of course, and he’s probably more handsome now than he was before, but his smile cancels out any of the darkness his appearance might bring. 

One theory quickly emerges: Baz Pitch has been replaced with a happier clone, but it is soon disproved by the glares many receive from him when they lurk around him and Simon for too long. He might have the ability to smile now, but that had no effect on his ability to scare the shit out of anyone he wishes to. 

Their hands remain intertwined as they sit down in front of a stricken Penelope Bunce and an even more shocked Agatha Wellbelove, both of whom immediately demand to not let either of them get up until they get the whole story out of them. 

At one point, Simon Snow, in typical Simon Snow fashion, gets a dollop of butter on his nose, and Baz Pitch, unlike anything he’s ever done, smiles softly and moves to kiss it off. It would be disgusting if it was anyone but them, and Watford’s buzzing intensifies.

Somewhere in the back, Dev Grimm reluctantly hands ₤20 to a grinning Will Pinemark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the quote Baz mentions comes from the very last line of the Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller (title comes from the same quote as well)  
> \- I'm working on a sequel for this right now, thank you so much for all of your kind comments in the first chapter I love you all so much!!  
> \- same thing about the grammar as the last chapter, this isn't proofread thoroughly, so if I make a very egregious grammar mistake, just let me know!


End file.
